Nimm Mein Leben
by Vitani
Summary: Even the smallest broken promise can leave a deep wound, and despite his best intentions Ken had been the betrayer once. Now his sins come back to haunt him when Nagi returns for revenge. Based on The Holy Children drama. Language, violence, no pairing.
1. Guilt

**Author's Notes: **This story is pre-_Kapitel_, before Kase, and is based on the events and characters of the Dramatic Collection I drama CD "The Holy Children". My understanding of the Japanese language is basic, so I do apologize if any of the facts are wrong. Many thanks and a world of gratitude go to my Beta Reader **Sybil Rowan**. Without her professional editing job and all her encouragement, this story would still be stuck in draft form.

**Disclaimer:** _Weiß kreuz_ and all its characters remain property of © Project Weiß, Takehito Koyasu, Kyoko Tsuchiya, Marine Entertainment, Animate, and many other talented people. All rights reserved. All original characters and events remain property of the fan fiction author and should not be used without permission. No infringement is intended by this not-for-profit fan story.

* * *

_**Nimm Mein Leben**_

**Part I:**_** Schuld**_

Waiting. It was a major and inglorious part of their job, yet all too often Ken found he hadn't the patience to wait. It wasn't like playing soccer. He could focus his eyes on the battle of the game, watch the other players exhibit their skills, and act upon an incoming goal to thwart the opponent. That was exhilarating!

This was quiet, solitary, precise, and could easily drive him crazy if he didn't steady his thoughts to reality – the reality that this wasn't a game, and they could all be caught, or killed. That was enough to keep him alert.

But it wasn't enough to subdue him._ Maybe I just get bored too easily?_ he thought sardonically. He didn't really consider himself a traditional "man of action", but it was better to be facing the challenge than anticipating it. Not that he expected a challenge. The mission had started, and it was Aya who would be the one to take the target out; Ken was the look-out, and back-up if need be. So he continued to wait.

Ken's teal-colored eyes were trained down the length of the hallway where he'd been posted. It was constantly lit by a trail of florescent lights overhead. He had been waiting at a T-junction with his back to the wall. Here he could see the double doors ahead that led into the vast shopping mall. It seemed an unusual place for a hit, but this was the target's cover business, as executive owner of the facility. Past Ken was the way out, with its brightly glowing red EXIT sign, beyond which Yoji waited just in case. There was wall to his left; to his right was another long hall, where the clerical office door and tenant mailboxes were. At the end of that long lane was yet another intersection, towards another service exit, more alleys, and a few backdoors for several stores.

_Man, this place is a maze. _He wondered if any of the shoppers realized how intricate the ways ran in the frame of the building, all white cement like the bones of a skeletal structure. Not that they had to worry about the consumers' view-points. Right now it was night, and the mall was empty.

It was also silent, save for the constant hum of the electricity keeping the place alive. So far that was a good sign; security was still minutes away on patrol, and any second Aya would cut the target down. He took a deep breath, cooled by exposed piping and concrete walls, and told himself to focus on the mission. Weiß was ready.

As if in agreement, he heard Bombay's hushed voice say over their communication link, "They're coming out."

A smile tugged at the corners of Siberian's lips. His fingers bent slightly inward, leather gauntlet creaking dully as he caressed the bagh nakh's release. _Here it comes …_

Then the impatience drifted into a different sort of anxious feeling. He felt a surge of excitement well up in his chest, as if he were once more the goalie watching a ball come hurtling towards his post, knowing full well he would succeed in breaking its aim.

And suddenly, Ken gave himself a mental shake, hard. It had been happening all too often on missions, and whenever he caught himself in those moments, he instantly felt disgusted. _I'm not like that,_ he reminded himself, and not for the first time. Yes, it was boring to wait, to be the back-up, but to feel _excited_ to face a target was …

Sick. He wasn't an animal stalking prey, despite the tiger claws he wore. He was a man about to take a life. Even though he knew as Weiß it must be done, and it was the right thing to do, it was certainly not something to look forward to, least of all with relish.

_You dumb fuck,_ he cursed himself. He closed his eyes for a brief second, collecting and containing whatever dark thoughts had previously been swelling. When he opened them, the first thing his eyes fell on was the gauntlet weapon. He cursed again.

_Am I really that malicious?_ The others never before took note of what could only be described as his bloodlust. It was so slight and haphazard when it began to appear, and somehow all that gave him comfort. It gave him an argument. It was nothing more than fleeting sensations from too much bottled-up energy, and being a White Hunter with a target was merely his brain's way of finding appropriate release for that energy. It wasn't excitement; it _couldn't_ be desire.

With a passing stab of shame, Ken turned his full and devote attention back to the doors ahead. Aya had the kill he told himself; all he had to do was wait.

Just wait it out.

Without warning, an uncanny chill sent a shiver down his spine, as if a cold wind had wafted down the stale halls to break his resolve. Ken caught his breath in sudden shock and gazed over his shoulder. He saw nothing, and heard not one sound; not a door opening nor closing, not one footstep, not a single word being spoken. Perhaps he had just made himself jumpy? An over-active mind?

Yet, strangely, he knew that wasn't true. Something was out of place, like the entire aura about the building had suddenly shifted its form. His instincts sounded an alarm. Somehow he knew something was there, something was pushing the air down the tunnel-like ways. Something – or someone.

With a single brow arched inquisitively, suspiciously, Ken could not help but to shift his weight into a fighting stance and bring up the bagh nakh. As impossible as it seemed in the empty halls, he knew it clear as day: _I'm being watched._

It felt as if time slowed down at that understanding. He strained his eyes so hard it seemed like the walls were suddenly shrinking in around him, pulling the hallways closer at his need to see what drew near. He inched forward. His attention remained focused.

Until the light above him blinked out. Ken gasped, his reflexes causing him to raise his eyes and claws to the ceiling. Another moment passed, and then the next light blinked out before him. Down the hall it continued, and Ken watched with wide eyes as one by one, all the fixtures ceased to glow. Far down the end of the hall it went, and at the end, just before the final bulb burst, Ken swore he saw someone standing there. It was a face he knew he should recognize.

It was a boy in a pale blue school uniform. The look of hate in his navy blue eyes honestly scared Ken. Then the world was swallowed into darkness so profound that he felt he had simply died.

Like a vision, it ended. As quickly as they had each been extinguished, the lights simultaneously beamed back on, and Ken had to shield his eyes. Realizing he hadn't been alone, he dropped his arm with a curse.

But no one was there.

_What the hell?_ It had Ken questioning his own sanity for the second time that night. _But I knew him …_

As if returning to the waking world from a dream, Ken was swiftly aware of Bombay's voice over the comlink, frantically calling to him. "Siberian? Come in, Siberian! Abyssinian missed the target!"

_Shit! _Somehow Ken had tuned out the entire exchange, had missed hearing the mission was now in jeopardy. It was his fault, he told himself harshly, his own lack of commitment and foresight. If he had been more careful, been more attentive to those around him, then this wouldn't be happening.

In that instant, rushed by remorse and doubt, Ken remembered that face; he recalled when they had met. In that same instant, now even more, he could only blame himself.

With that powerful feeling of guilt and rage, Ken heard the double doors dashed open, heard the echoing pants and the running footfalls of the target fleeing for the exit to make his escape. The fire from his emotions fueled the force with which Ken unsheathed his claws, and with an angry, fierce cry, he drove out of the hall and into the junction.

Right into the target his fist flew. The bagh nakh's blades pierced the man straight on, sinking into the side of his neck just above the shoulder. The target had no time to react, having no opportunity to avoid the hectic charge of the other assassin who had been laying in wait in the corridors. Ken's strong blow did not stop upon impact, but continued clean through. With a vibrating clang, the blades exited the body over the other shoulder and plunged into the wall beside it.

The man fell, neck laid to waste so deeply that the head was halfway severed. The spine could be seen at the base of the skull, and thick muscles stuck out in ugly tears. Blood squirted from a grazed jugular and pooled on the floor so heavily it appeared black. Ken stood over that mess with his blades still embedded into the wall. His breathing was coming in vicious, loud gasps of air with constrained sobs. Brows drawn low angrily, he felt disgusted with himself again as he remembered the boy, and the promise he made years ago. It was a promise that had turned into a lie.

Then suddenly he slammed his weaponless fist into the wall as well. Tears sprang to his eyes. _I'm not like that … _He tried to remind himself again. This time, a prayer followed that thought.

* * *

A police cruiser sailed by them at top speed, lights flashing and siren blaring. In the distance, another could be heard following suit. They were heading in the direction of the mall. The mission was completed, and the scene of the crime was left behind. For Ken, however, his mind remained back on that cold hallway.

He stared out the backseat window with a blank gaze, watching the darkened world beyond whip by with little notice. He didn't even take note at the multiple times Omi had looked at him with concern. The boy was seated next to him, but he felt as if he were suddenly all alone. Ken felt like his soul had been left behind as compensation for the life he had just snuffed out. _It's a fair trade._

His mood wasn't helped by the knowledge that his slip had also put his teammates in danger. By the random looks Aya kept throwing him since the mission, Ken knew he was disgruntled with his actions. Of course, the redhead would never scold him outright, but the judgment from his violet eyes was enough to unsettle and belittle him. He slumped further into himself with deeper regret.

Ken heard voices as if from a distance as the others spoke of the mission. Yoji was wondering at the odd little turn of events that night. "So how did you manage to sprain your wrist, Aya?" he asked from behind the wheel. An unlit cigarette was between his lips as he spoke.

Nursing his injury, Aya answered astutely, "I was going in for the kill, but the target was saved by one of his bodyguards."

With no blame or disappointment, Aya relayed to the group what had happened after that. Omi's initial strike did not succeed in felling the second bodyguard, and Aya suffered the consequences when his sword met the man's defensive, metal baton. The guard's sacrifice was short-lived when Omi's tipped dart sunk into the back of his neck.

An old saying came to Yoji's mind as he envisioned the scene. "Like giving the demon a kanebo." Aya actually gave a slight smile.

"I know things sometimes don't go as planned," Omi said, "but I feel bad about what happened. I didn't even see him get back up." His angelic voice was rough with regret.

Ken listened in on the exchange vaguely. At those last words, he finally stirred; hearing regret spoken from another broke his brooding stupor and his big brother temperament came to the surface in Omi's defense. He mused, "Was it because of the blackout?"

A long hesitant silence followed. Then Omi said worriedly, "What blackout?"

That brought Ken's attention back to the present, and he turned to look questioningly at the young Weiß member. "The lights, they went out for a moment." He didn't bother to elaborate on the unique way the lights had shut down.

Ken didn't expect such extreme reactions from the others. He saw Yoji give his reflection in the rearview a quizzical look, while Aya shook his head just slightly in disapproval. Omi couldn't help but to give Ken a sympathetic face, saying, "None of the power went out inside the mall."

Ken blinked several times in confusion, swallowing back the irritation he felt from Omi's expression – and the idea that perhaps they didn't trust his word. As if sensing his friend's thoughts, Bombay added helpfully, "It must have just been a random fuse."

"I guess." Rubbing his lower lip in agitation at the prospects now brought up, Ken looked away. He wondered if it _had_ been nothing but a paranoid hallucination. Maybe he really _hadn't_ seen a teenage boy standing there?

* * *

He couldn't sleep. They had returned to their apartment over the Kitty in the House florist several hours ago, but rest eluded Ken. So he sat on the edge of his bed, quietly sharpening the blades of his bagh nakh with a whetting stone. The gentle metallic trill of the stone gliding across the steel edges was a familiar sound, and the song helped to lull him into a trance.

With the sun breaking over the horizon, all he could do was watch his hand work in that constant, sweeping motion. He saw his reflection in the four blades' surfaces, broken awkwardly over the separate angled claws. His expression was worn, the look of a young man totally defeated. It was the sad face of an assassin.

_I'm nothing more than a killer._ Try as he might, he could never be anything more than that now. He would often put his trust in the notion that he was better than just his employment, and believed that there was more to his life than Weiß. After all, he had a motive for becoming one of the White Hunters, and he continued to maintain his clear sense of justice. _Isn't that enough to keep my humanity? _He wasn't so certain anymore.

Ken sighed in a very tragic way, and set the stone aside. Then he pulled on the gauntlet, and once more extended the claws. Renewed, they sparkled with the pale dawn light as if appreciative of the good care they received.

How many times had he donned this specialized weapon of his? How many lives had he taken on their razor-like edges? It was notably more times than he could remember, but all for the sake of a mission. Taking down those of the Dark was what needed to be done; it was a service that needed to be rendered in this world.

The memories that hurt the most, however, were of those people he had to take down despite some good intentions. No one was ever born innately evil, but just as Lucifer fell, evil was something that too many were drawn to. There were times where Ken wondered if that's what he was to become: another fallen angel.

The mission that night had opened up old wounds, and brought back old memories that were the hardest for him to bear. He had trusted honestly, and was betrayed easily. How many times, he wondered. How many friends would turn on him and have to face the consequences on the tips of his blades?

As deeply as he felt betrayed, he felt guilt tenfold. The justice of Weiß was merciless, and there was no room for pity. What made him feel worse, though, was the thought that perhaps even more merciless was his own personal wrath. He hated liars, and he hated to be used.

_So why?_ Why did she have to force him into that position? He never wanted to hurt anybody, but it wasn't fair. He had been left with no choice, because he knew he was right. Even so, that resolution didn't ease his sorrow.

To the still air, Ken whispered mournfully, "Sister …"

He was not certain if the happenings back at the mall were real or just an illusion of his guilty conscience, but he did know that he never paid enough attention, never thought before he spoke; his good intentions were ultimately overthrown by his reckless behavior. He knew that while he was betrayed, he was also the betrayer.

He stared at the blades, but his eyes beheld something else entirely different – the face of that teenage boy with his eyes full of hatred. Not every innocent life could be spared by his bagh nakh.

* * *

"Sorry, but we're closed –" It was an automatic response when he heard the bell over the door jingle, but looking up from his seat at the cash register, Ken saw it was only Omi.

The boy was just coming over the threshold of the florists', slinging off his backpack and looking at the other's haggard face with a soft sympathy. "Ken-kun, you look terrible."

Although he was indeed feeling the effects of his sleepless night, Ken tried to appear thoughtfully stunned by the remark. Immediately, however, he saw the same worried expression in the boy's eyes that he saw last night. This time it didn't irk him.

He grinned, feeling somewhat ashamed for having caused his teammate concern, and said, "I'm fine. Just a little tired."

Still wearing the same considerate mask, Omi looked as if he wanted to rebuke, but he didn't press Ken. He merely added, "You didn't lock up." Although the WELCOME sign was flipped to read the reversed message of CLOSED, Omi let his hand hesitate on the door handle to enunciate his meaning.

Ken nodded. "I was gonna lock it on my way out."

"Where are you going?"

He shrugged carelessly. "Just out. I'll drop off the deposit, too."

In truth, Ken didn't know where he would go. He just felt suffocated being in the same daily environment and needed a change of scenery. The work day had been hard on him. It wasn't just from being exhausted, or the fact they were short-staffed; Aya had gone to the doctor's office about his wrist, and Omi had classes through late afternoon. It went deeper than those trivial complaints. After the previous happenings it was as if his spirit had fled. It was hard to focus on customers, and more difficult to be jovial for all the admiring girls. He simply wasn't in the mood.

Even more than that, he felt he needed to get away. He wanted to find somewhere he could be reclusive and not worry about what the others were thinking, or judging. A part of him was also attempting to avoid Weiß and any mission that might come their way. After his episode of feeling like an elated recidivist, he was leery, almost afraid, of being asked to take out a target.

Omi walked over to the cash wrap and set his pack down. Ken glanced at him from the corner of his eye, but when he saw the hesitant, questioning look from the boy, he lowered his gaze and pretended to be engrossed in counting down the drawer. He heard Omi sigh, then grab his pack and shuffle to the door to the flat upstairs.

_I'm sorry, Omi,_ Ken thought helplessly. He knew he was being rude by shutting out the sensitive boy, but he couldn't help it. He couldn't speak the words aloud because he knew an explanation would be expected afterwards. And he didn't want to talk about it.

So instead he counted the currency with vigor while listening to the register print out the daily log. Then he gave the bank deposit bag special attention, rather than his usual illegible penmanship. Despite his best effort into giving the task his all, Ken soon found his attention averting back into his mind, to the dark memories.

_I need to get outta here._

It was early spring, and the sun was still setting fast, letting the evening chill blanket the world before the night settled in. The weather was a welcomed thought, and Ken hoped the fresh air would ease his troubled thoughts, cool his head.

He sighed when the receipt finished printing, and tore it from the machine, frustrated at the delay. Then he heard someone clear their throat politely, and he turned to look at Omi who had appeared from the apartment above. He had changed out of his school uniform, and came down with Ken's soccer ball. Omi smiled invitingly.

"Got game?" the boy asked brightly. He chucked the ball to Ken with a little bit of a challenge.

Swiveling quickly in his seat, Ken caught the ball and brought it to his chest with a slightly surprised air. Meeting Omi's grin, he couldn't help but to feel all the tension drain from his body at the thought of playing again. A spark was renewed inside him.

He smiled back. "You're on!"

After the deposit was securely left with the bank drop-off safe, they headed to the nearby park. With the early dusk the small acreage was deserted and quiet, which Ken had at first been thankful for since he didn't feel like being around people. However, as the one-on-one game with Omi progressed, Ken's athletic competitive side took hold and he became focused solely on the match. He hadn't played much lately, mostly due to the winter season, and he forgot how much he missed it.

Omi and he usually played sports together in their down time, and because Ken also volunteered in the summer to teach children's soccer, he was used to helping Omi better his game. Sometimes he wondered if Omi honestly enjoyed soccer, or he was just pretending to be interested in learning more for Ken's sake. Right now, it didn't matter; he was grateful for the entertainment and exercise. He had wanted to get away, and before he didn't know where he would go or what he would do, so this was the perfect escape for the former J-Leaguer.

After some drills with Ken, Omi was attempting to learn to control an incoming ball off his head. Instead of applying his teachings, Omi panicked and smacked the ball with his hand.

"That's a foul!" Ken called, but found himself diving for the ball as if he were on a sandy beach. He caught it off his fist's edge, sending it spinning back to Omi. Soon their game turned to silly antics

For a few sets, they actually did play volleyball and revealed in the change of tactics. Although Ken took his soccer very seriously, he definitely needed the fun that came with simply playing a game. He laughed with good-natured Omi when the boy nearly face-planted for the ball once, and they both tried to outdo the other in their leaps in the air.

Catching the low sailing ball on his kneecap, Ken brought the tiny tournament back to soccer form, bouncing it back and forth between both knees. He turned his lithe frame about, and with that momentum, he dropped his angle and swung his leg upward to kick the ball over his body's line. It sailed past Omi and struck the trunk of the tree that was Omi's appointed goal. Flecks of bark burst outwards at the sheer strength with which the ball hit.

"Whoa!" Omi breathed. Despite the point for Ken, it was spoken in an awe-like sort of cheer.

Lacing his fingers behind his head and leaning his skull back into his hands, Ken beamed with pride. It seemed his assassin's training kept his skills at ordinary sports in peak performance; he noticed his increased flexibility, balance and precision even after so much time off. _I guess I can't condemn it entirely!_

Omi flopped on the ground and announced, "That's it! I think I'm done!"

Ken nodded, suddenly aware at the sweat drenching his face and shirt, and knowing not to push his labored breathing and sore muscles. His lungs ached a bit with the cold air. Smiling, he said, "I guess I won?"

"Yeah, I'd say so!"

Ken walked over to where Omi sat and fell onto the ground in a controlled, spread-eagled fall. He could feel the bristly dry grass blades beneath him, as well as the soft new shoots starting to sprout. The earth as yet felt hard and cold, still thawing out from the winter. The deepening evening boasted a clear sky that was now the color of rich navy, with stars glittering far off. Birds still sang in the trees, but crickets were starting to add their tune. He inhaled a long breath, the brisk scent of spring kissing his warmed body with a frigid tremor. He held that breath, with the sweet taste of the season, and then let it out contentedly.

Staring at the black pattern of branches above, Ken said earnestly, "Thank you, Omi."

"For what? I didn't _let_ you win, Ken-kun."

"No, it's nothing like that. I appreciate your inviting me out, and for your company." He always felt awkward being open about his emotions, and found voicing them difficult sometimes. So he never looked at Omi while he spoke, a little embarrassed, but it helped to maintain sincerity in his tone. "Thank you for understanding."

He sensed Omi's supportive smile. The boy softly replied, "The others understand, too. They just have a different way of showing it. But you're welcome."

They stayed like that for some time in silence, not testing each other, but just grateful for the time spent together. Ken knew that the boy-Weiß wanted to pry a little, to make Siberian open up about whatever was eating away at him. Regardless of the moment, he still couldn't let it out. Ken also knew that Omi had too much tact to force the issue.

Soon Omi popped onto his feet and said, "I'm going to run across the street to the café before it closes and get a drink. Do you want something?"

"Bottled water would be great."

"Okay. Be right back."

Ken waved a hand at him in recognition of the brief farewell. Left alone, he was swiftly aware of how chilly the air was against his clammy skin. For several breaths he dealt with it, wanting to hold onto that peaceful moment of being at ease with the world a little longer. Finally, with a small sigh of regret, Ken gained his feet and went to retrieve the hoodie he'd discarded during the game. Ducking his head into it and pulling his arms through, he scanned the grass for his soccer ball.

It wasn't around the goalpost. He knew it was the right tree because he could see the cracked dents where the ball had hit his victory blow. Not thinking much of it, Ken turned a slow circle and scanned the field. He still didn't see the black-and-white item anywhere. He started walking towards the picnic area, wondering if somehow it had rolled over to hide behind the benches, but a cold shiver stopped him dead in his tracks. He hugged himself and rubbed at his arms to ward off the goose bumps.

Something suddenly felt wrong. Ken bit the inside of his lip and did a quick scan of the park with a frown. _This feels like before …_

A vague stirring sound caught his attention, and Ken spun. It was his soccer ball, and it was rolling steadily towards him. Another shiver took hold as he realized that there was no breeze at all, let alone a wind strong enough to send it moving like that.

Ken stood transfixed as the ball kept rolling in his direction, coming from out of nowhere. It must have started from far across the field, and now actually seemed to slow when it neared him. Then it stopped all by itself. It came to rest right at his feet. Teal eyes wide, Ken let out the breath he'd been holding, and now the sound of his own confused breathing resounded loudly in his ears.

That's when the memory of the smaller promise he had also broken came crashing back … _Shit! It can't be! _He knew. As much as he wished it wasn't true, Ken now understood.

His dire thoughts were broken when the ball moved again, rolling cleanly around him and heading off towards the street. Watching it go, he saw Omi standing there with two water bottles in hand. The boy put a foot up to stop the ball on his toes, and it complied like the ordinary object it was.

"Ken-kun?"

The worry was back in Omi's voice, but this time concern gripped Ken even more deeply. The way it had been chosen to go to Omi felt sinister to Ken, and he did not like the implication of that at all. He hurried to Omi's side. He took one of the water bottles with a muttered, "Thanks."

Quickly, he drew Omi away and headed for the sidewalk, leaving the soccer ball behind despite Omi's reminder. He left it there with the hidden person watching them from the encroaching darkness.

* * *

That night Ken had a nightmare for the first time in a long, long while.

He was inside an old church. All around him were candles of various sizes, a sea of tiny lights flickering in the still air. Every so often, a little fire would spark and crackle with a hollow, lonely sound. There was no other noise in the building, which had neither windows nor doors. Dust hung heavily, drifting down from the high rafters where somewhere, far overhead, the ceiling met together in the point of the chapel. He gazed up, and strained to see that point, but the only thing to be seen was sheer blackness. How high up did it go?

He lowered his gaze, and it was then he realized he wore the bagh nakh. _Why am I here? Where is this place? _Try as he might, he couldn't remember this exact church. It wasn't in his memories. Then again, many did look alike, and he hadn't been to one in quite some time. _Am I on a mission?_

With a bewildered sigh, he dropped his gaze to the floor – and gasped loudly, a sharp breath that echoed off the stone walls dully. There was no floor beneath his feet. He expected to see oil-polished hardwood, but instead he only saw himself.

His reflection stared back at him from the mirror under his feet. But the glassy world only reflected his image back. The candles, the lights, were replaced with a labyrinth of what looked like long pews, a trail that wound into shadows of nothingness beyond. Even more disturbing, the Ken in the mirror world had his blades extended, and there was blood dripping off them.

Wrenching his gaze away, Ken brought his head up and stared ahead. Into darkness. He felt afraid, and his breathing began to quicken, his heart thrumming inside his chest. _What's going on? If this is a mission, where are the others?_

Suddenly there came the titillating chime of a single, crystalline bell, like a raindrop striking a calm pool. A recessional followed, but the voices where whispering the hymn as if from a distant room. Ken did the only thing he could think of at the reverent song. He fell to his knees and folded his hands in prayer.

The chime sounded again, and Ken jumped when a voice reverberated in its wake. "You didn't have to come back."

It was a familiar female voice, spunky and sweet. He looked about, but still all he saw were the candles. Beyond that there was nothing but the darkness. So he closed his eyes and listened to her voice.

"We had assumed you would go abroad to play soccer, Sister and I. After all that had happened to you, we hoped you could finally find a good life. It was your passion, and you deserved it. You didn't have to come back here."

He heard the chime, but the amused bubble of laughter overtook it. "You grow flowers now, though?" She laughed again, and the exuberance of it brought a smile to his face. "I'm sorry, but _you_? I would have to see it to believe it. Although you always _did_ like to play in the dirt!"

His smile turned sad for his childhood friend. "Natsuki …"

The laughter was gone. "You didn't have to come back here. Ken."

There was an odd tone to the voice now, solemn and frozen. It sounded like all the life had drained from her as she asked one thing: "Why?"

"Natsuki –"

He opened his downcast eyes and finally saw her. She stood stiffly behind his reflection in the mirror, her eyes full of a confused sorrow. He unfolded his hands and put them on the glass before his knees, as if trying to reach out to her.

Heaving in a breath between gritted teeth, he finally said hoarsely, "I don't know. I don't know what I'm doing here anymore." The chime came again.

She shook her head sympathetically, like she didn't believe his words. With a final smile that was as beautiful as could be from a lost soul, she turned away and left him. She said, her parting message, "You shouldn't be here. It's not your time."

He heard the footfalls echoing all around him, but he could no longer see her. "Natsuki, wait!"

Ken's reaching hand clunked on the slick surface. With a growl, he slammed both fists into the glass, wondering if he could break into that other world of ghosts and illusions. His right fist had extended the claws of his weapon, and with tears in his eyes, Ken dragged those blades across the mirror with a deafening shrill cry.

Suddenly there was a loud crash, as if one of the ceiling rafters had caved in, offended by his violence. The darkness trembled around him, threatening to bring down the entire church on its frame. It alarmed Ken so much he threw himself to his feet. Great mounds of dust, cobwebs and debris wafted down. All the candles went out. _What the hell?!_

He realized he could still hear footsteps, but this time they were coming up behind him. He looked down, but the mirror was gone. It was just a cold black floor, like dark slate. Wiping the tears from his cheeks with the back of his bagh nakh, Ken turned in hopes of finding Natsuki there.

Instead, he saw the outline of a more matured lady coming towards him, and she was dressed in dark robes. With a pang of regret, and some resentment, he mumbled to the quivering air, "Sister? Is that you?"

"Why?"

He didn't think it was possible after all this time, but he instantly recognized the voice before he saw her face. His heart skipped a beat. "Mom?"

Then the lullaby came, humming with a conviction to bring the building down on top of him. Despite how much he missed her, how broken he felt when she had died, Ken actually took a step backwards. He was actually moving away from his own mother walking towards him. _This can't be happening …_

"Why, Ken?"

He let out a heavy breath, feeling at once the weight of all his sins bearing down on him. Had his life been nothing but regrets? Even his own mother was questioning him. His knees buckled, and he dropped to the floor in misery. "I didn't want to –"

Tears flowed freely now as she stood over him, and all he could hear was the lullaby being hummed accusingly. Somehow he knew that the church was crumbling, even though the world inside it was nothing but blackness. Slowly, his mother knelt down and put her arms around him.

"I didn't want to, Mom," he cried softly against her shoulder, hugging her in return. He couldn't remember the last time he had been held in her arms. "Please forgive me …?"

"Why, Ken?"

Her voice was hollow, lifeless. Something warned Ken, and he looked into her face. Her eyes were bulging in disbelief, and blood trickled from her mouth in a dark rivulet. In horror, Ken realized that he hadn't been hugging her – his arm was plunged into her midsection, the bagh nakh's blades buried deep inside her. Blood was gushing from the wound, spilling over his arm.

"Mom?!"

It's wasn't possible! He would never do such a thing!

Sobbing, Ken felt a wave of nausea pass over him. All he could do was stare at his claws in disgust, knowing her life was seeping out onto him – because of him. In an exaggerated way he began shaking his head. _No, it's not real. This can't be real. I didn't do it._

_I didn't want to do it!_

"Why? Ken?"

Fighting off the world of mirrors and shadows, Ken ripped his blades from her body, catching her as she fell dead. He heard his own scream echoing as the boy brought the building down one more time.

"Ken?"

_I didn't want to do it!_

"Ken!"

He vaguely recognized the new voice was male. The lullaby had stopped. The scream died in his throat as he felt a fiery rush come over his body. He reached out, like a man drowning.

"Ken!"

There was a moment where he stopped breathing, stopped flailing, and gave up. Only then could his brain register what was suddenly going on. He was no longer trapped in the church falling to ruins, holding the body of his mother. He was no longer covered in blood. He felt hot, light-headed and entirely not himself.

It was then that he realized the voice belonged to Yoji, and he was sitting on Ken's bed, holding Siberian firmly by the upper arms as if to steady him. Ken looked blankly at his teammate, whose tousled hair suggested that he'd been roused dramatically from his own bed. Confusion easing into vague understanding and immense relief, Ken gazed around the familiar room.

"I didn't want to." Ken whispered the last remnants of his vision without thinking, pleading to Yoji to understand him. Surely his teammates wouldn't accuse him of murder? He was back in their world now, the real world of Weiß. "I didn't want to kill her."

"Everything is okay, Ken," Yoji replied, giving him a slight shake. The conviction in his smooth voice gave Ken encouragement. "It was just a nightmare."

_A nightmare? _With a thankful sigh, Ken crumbled against Yoji, trying hard to stifle the fresh tears falling from his eyes. "Oh God, it was just a dream."

Yoji made a surprised sound in the back of his throat, releasing his death-grip on the other when he felt him collapse. Finally he just held Ken, who was still shaking badly. "Hey, come on, kid," he said gently. "It's over now."

It wasn't his forte, but Ken had the sneaking suspicion Yoji was using his best sultry come-hither voice to soothe him. The Playboy wasn't much for brotherly, or even fatherly show of affection, but he was good at calming the ladies. It _was_ comforting, sort of.

Now completely back to his senses, Ken managed to control his breathing, which in turn stopped the tremors that overtook the rest of him. He sniffled, then sighed, and finally pulled away from Yoji. The other moved back to give him space, but there was no feeling of awkwardness between them. Ken honestly felt a little grateful, and a whole lot of stupid.

"I'm sorry for waking you," he said over his raw, stinging throat.

Yoji waved a hand, a gesture to tell his friend that an apology wasn't necessary. "You know I don't sleep well when I'm by myself, and it's hard to bring someone home when I don't live alone. You boys force me to be a heart-breaker too many times!" He winked in his usual delicate way.

Ken managed to smile at that. He untwisted the sheets about himself and drew his legs up, leaning into his knees. Shirtless and sweaty, the heat was subsiding and he was feeling the cold air chilling him through and through. He wondered how late it was.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

"I don't think so."

Yoji shrugged noncommittally, but his eyes were searching Ken's face; far in the back of his eyes, Ken saw the same concern that had recently developed in Omi's expression. He felt bad for dragging them into his misery.

"You can go back to bed," Ken finally said sheepishly.

Yoji nodded, clapping his hands on his thighs before lifting himself to his feet. "Yeah, sounds good. Make sure you have a wet dream this time, Ken. You won't need me for that, right?"

"Jackass," Ken mumbled with a grin. "Just get out of here."

With his usual good mirth, Yoji gave him a thumbs-up before retiring.

Ken watched him leave with a feeling of guilt. Then he reached over to turn off the light, which Yoji must've switched on to help wake him. Despite the vividness of the dream in the back of his mind, he wanted to sink back into the darkness. The false light from the bulb made him feel angst, as if a harsh reminder that he should be asleep.

"You probably should talk about it."

He jerked his hand away, startled. "Christ, Aya."

"You do realize that's why you're suffering like this, don't you?"

The tall redhead was leaning elegantly in the door frame, arms folded and his eyes lowered. He was dressed for the night in sweatpants and a plain white tee, but his demeanor was still all business. When he lifted his violet eyes, Ken saw an understanding in them; it wasn't sympathy, but rather empathy. It baffled Ken somewhat.

"I'm not suffering," Ken retorted. He couldn't help the anger that started to rise to his tone. He frowned at Abyssinian. "It was just a nightmare."

Dropping his arms, a little gingerly with his bandaged wrist, Aya strode into the room. Ken waited for him to stand over him with that condescending attitude. Sometimes Ken felt that Aya acted like a strict school marm, like he always knew better and tried to put Ken down in order to teach him a lesson. He shed the covers and threw his legs over the side of the bed, anticipating that challenge.

It never came when Aya simply walked over and sat down beside him. Ken had thought Aya would treat him like a sulking child, but instead, he came down to his level. He appreciated that simple gesture.

"I won't ask you the details about your dream," Aya said evenly, "but I can tell your conscience is weighing you down."

Ken opened his mouth to say something, but there was nothing he could say. So he snapped his jaw closed and stared ahead. What Aya said was true. He did have too much guilt on his mind, but it wasn't the only thing haunting him. After the outing in the park, Ken knew there was more stalking him than just his conscience, but he couldn't tell the others; he didn't know why, but he felt it was his burden alone.

"Do you know what your problem is?"

That sudden question rankled Ken, and more so that what would follow would be Aya's definition of his troubles. He scoffed quietly in disdain. "Oh, what _my_ problem is?"

Typical Aya, he let the emotional boldness slip by unnoticed and said, "You're too nice, Ken."

A bitter, lop-sided grin came upon Ken's face. Aya calling him "too nice" seemed like a compliment, considering there were times when Ken felt the other could do with some more consideration towards others. It bothered him greatly, though, that Aya was slapping him verbally in the face.

"It isn't going to hurt anybody by being firm in your decisions. You only hurt yourself when you don't."

"No matter what you think of me, Aya, I'm not stupid."

Aya looked at him and said seriously, "No, you're not. You're brash and naïve, but you always do the right thing in the end."

Arching a brow, Ken turned his head to meet his firm expression. There was something about Aya that was not usually there: support, recognition. It made Ken realize there was a part of his stoic teammate that did indeed comprehend his dilemma.

"You have to believe in that, and stay the course. You have to believe in Weiß."

Ken looked away with uncertainty. At that moment, he wished he could muster some of Aya's courageous resolve. He whispered, still battling with the guilt inside, "What if I can't?" He didn't dare tell Aya he was afraid that if he did stand his ground, he would only become that bloodthirsty assassin that marveled in the kill – that _wanted_ to kill.

"Then you'll only put us in danger, like you did the last mission."

Dropping his head, Ken growled in anger at those words, but the fire was directed at himself. "I didn't mean to –"

"You never mean to, but it happens nonetheless."

He gripped the edge of the mattress until the veins bulged atop his hands. Ken said forcefully, "I know, dammit. I know."

Aya rose smoothly from the bed then. "You need to make peace with whatever ghosts are haunting you." His choice of words seemed oddly out of character, but entirely appropriate.

He began to leave, but stopped in the doorway. He added over his shoulder, "I won't allow you to jeopardize another mission, Ken. At least remember that."


	2. Revenge

**Author's Note: **Book quote used within is from the works of Abbe. Michael Quoist. All rights reserved and no infringement is intended.

**

* * *

**

**Part II: **_**Rache**_

The constant clacking of the keys kept Ken's attention as he watched Omi's back. The boy was working at the computer with a diligence that came with skill and determination. Even though Omi was just working on his homework, it gave Ken an idea.

He really didn't want to ask. It would seem like such a random request, and he didn't want to give Omi any more reason to be concerned; a part of him was also worried it would draw suspicion, since his teammates already viewed him as acting strangely. Yet he needed to know. As soon as the thought came into his head, he decided he had to follow through.

He realized that Aya was correct. He needed to find closure if he even hoped to continue on as a White Hunter. Try as he might, he could no longer carry on with the blame and excuses; he couldn't face another new day, least of all a new mission, without facing his demons first.

Heaving in a deep breath, Ken lifted himself to his feet. He paused a moment longer, unsure. _I need to know,_ he told himself with conviction. _I have to know what happened to him, and where he is. Then maybe I can make amends …_

Walking over, he had to swallow before interrupting the boy's studies. "Hey, Omi? Can I ask you a favor?"

Fingers resting on the home keys, Omi's big blue eyes looked up at him questioningly. "Yeah, anything."

"Can you find someone for me?"

Omi tilted his head at him in puzzlement. The glint in his eyes made Ken wonder if it had been a mistake to inquire. "What do you mean? Like a target?"

"No, more like a long-lost friend. You know how, right?"

"Well, yes, but –"

Ken immediately knew what Omi's dilemma was. He was afraid of somehow over-riding Kritiker's authority, or breeching any matter of loyalty. Of course Ken didn't want anyone to get into trouble with Manx or Persia, not over something that wasn't directly involved with them. If that happened, he knew Aya's retribution would be strict to boot, and he was certain it was also in the back of Omi's mind, too.

He quickly added, "You don't have to infiltrate any of Kritiker's networks or documents. If it's too difficult to track him down, I'll let it go. This is just a personal request."

Omi stared at him so intensely that it made Ken rub the back of his neck during the awkward silence. The expression on the face of the boy-Weiß was rooted in concern and judgment, but he was seriously mulling it over nonetheless. It gave Ken some hope despite the tension.

"Please, Omi?"

Although his eyebrows were drawn low contemplatively, Omi finally nodded. "Sure. Who are you looking for?"

"Nagi Naoe."

Omi started to write the name down on his notebook, but then stopped, fingers grasping the pencil fiercely in sudden recognition. "Ken-kun –"

Ken's mouth set in a firm line. He didn't want to hear any reasoning to try and sway him. "Don't say it, Omi. I know. But I really need to find out what happened to him, where he might have been sent to after the orphanage closed." Despite his desperation to avoid stirring up old emotions, Ken heard his voice crack at the end.

"You're not thinking of meeting him, face to face, are you?" The tone in Omi's voice was slightly alarmed now.

Ken shook his brown locks, but merely answered, "I want to know what I might have done to him."

Omi sighed sadly. "Is that why you've been so miserable lately?"

When Ken's jaw locked against a response, Omi continued sympathetically, "Ken-kun, it wasn't your fault. In the long run, you probably saved him that night."

"I said don't."

"I'm sure he went on to a foster home afterwards. I mean, didn't he … the building fell because of that kid. It wasn't your fault."

Ken turned away, feeling the heat rise inside him as he tried hard not to let his anger grow, or the grief show through it. He knew what Omi was driving at was fair, and it was probably right to just let it go. But that was before.

"Look, I appreciate the intention, but I don't want to assume anything."

"Why would you do this to yourself, Ken-kun?"

"I have to."

"Even if it means paying the consequences?"

Ken caught the warning in his voice, and he turned back to meet Omi's dire statement: "What if we find him and Kritiker decides to make him a target? After all, he did see our faces that night, and it had been mentioned."

Without realizing it, Ken's hands balled into fists. He was unable to control the rage that surged at what sounded to him like a threat. He had forgotten that Omi sent mission reports to headquarters, and was the only member of Weiß allowed access into Kritiker. He didn't imagine he might put Nagi in even greater danger. It hurt him to think his regret would only escalate the damage he had already inflicted, and the hurt caused him to lash out.

He said in an uncontrolled growl, "It's just a personal request. You don't have to tell Persia."

Omi gazed on him in a stunned, but tragic way, and it made Ken's anger subside. Ken instantly felt ashamed at the thought of his bullying the poor boy. Omi wasn't his enemy, and it wasn't his fault. He knew he should appreciate that Omi was simply trying to look out for him. Ken did acknowledge all the facts Omi pointed out, but he had to work against them. Ken had started the fire, and he needed to be the one to put out the flames. Come what may.

His shoulders slumped like a person defeated. Apologetic, Ken said imploringly, "Please, Omi, I need your help. I need to find closure."

The heavy emotional moment lifted as a sense of remorse came about Ken. True to his nature, Omi finally nodded in understanding. It was obvious it was not a matter to be brushed aside. It needed to be dealt with.

"Alright, Ken-kun. I'll look into it. If I find anything, I will let you know. Only you."

Some of Ken's tension drained, and he said gratefully, "Thank you."

"But you have to promise me something, too."

He found himself gulping at the thought of compromising on the situation. "What?"

"Be careful. I know you regret your actions, but Weiß does need you. I don't want anything bad to happen to you."

The rush of emotions that swept over Ken at the boy's sincere words was a morphing mix of relief, appreciation, and belonging. Omi smiled and bobbed his head, as if to say that everything was the absolute truth. All of Ken's prior dread washed away. For the first time since the peculiar mission at the mall, Ken felt everything would work out well.

"Thanks," he said again. "I'll be prepared, so you don't have to worry."

* * *

He watched every face that passed by on the street with great care, wondering why he felt the urge to do so. Ken was typically more laid-back and not at all bothered by crowds, yet anticipation gnawed at him as if every pair of eyes stared in his direction. So he watched them back and looked for that single face he expected to find.

It was evening, and the sky had turned a dark violet color, completely washing away the last remnants of the sun's rays. Inside the city's limits no stars could be seen, which was fine as there were plenty of neon signs and bright lights flickering on for the pedestrians and customers. Ken stood beside their delivery van, facing the grand hotel before him.

He had come to help Aya and Yoji deliver arrangements for an event to be held in the morning. It was a big order, and normally it was interesting to see the elaborate bouquets Grandma Mamoe made for the higher-end parties. Her years of floral experience certainly showed more skill than those using it for a day job. The great bundles of ivory and purple hues were glorious in their cloud-like masses, and all the irises, monk's caps and parrot tulips were vivid displays of colors and shapes; they even brought urns of small wisteria trees to add height. Many of the hotel guests and staff had breathed in awe at the beautiful sight as the boys entered.

However, Ken noticed none of it. His thoughts kept returning to their apartment, wondering if Omi would be able to find Nagi. Even greater was his desperation; what would he even say to the child? Surely Nagi hated him for breaking his word, crushing his trust. And it was that very thought that caused Ken to grow anxious once again.

_How much does he hate me?_ Something inside his Hunter's brain told him he was being haunted by his guilt, but it was not just paranoia. What if Nagi had wanted to find him again? Even back then he suspected that Nagi would come for him. What if he really _had_ seen the boy at the mall that night, as well as in the park? It wasn't just hate. Ken didn't want to believe it, but there was a possibility he was also being hunted.

Now that the delivery had been made, and they had set the arrangements to the client's dictation, Ken stood outside and waited, on edge. He always found himself waiting, and he no longer knew the reasons why. _I'm driving myself crazy, _he thought depressively. He sniffed in disgust. _This isn't a mission. Just calm the hell down._

He took a deep breath, but it only became a sigh as he let it out. He shifted his weight, and suddenly he wanted to be off. It was strange, being in the midst of a public street at the peak of dinner and shopping hours, but he felt as if they had dawdled in one spot too long. The cautionary voice in his head kept repeating the words "too easy".

Like a prey-animal, Ken once more began scanning the passers-by with intensity. His fist flexed, missing the security of the bagh nahk upon his fingers. He spun and brought that fist up in reflex when a hand suddenly fell on his shoulder from behind.

Yoji released him immediately and took a step away. "Geez, Ken. Get a hold of yourself."

Ken's relief was visible as he replied swiftly, "Sorry. I guess I wasn't paying attention."

"Are you sure you're alright? You've been so flighty the past few days."

Shrugging his shoulders as if to pull on some of his old confidence like a coat, Ken said, "It must be from lack of sleep."

His look said he didn't buy it, but Yoji said casually, "Yeah. Well, I need to take the extra stems to Aya to fix up some of the bouquets, but then we're good to go."

Ken nodded hopefully as Yoji went for the flowers in the van, stored in a cooler inside the back compartment. He came forth with an armload of untrimmed stems with crisp petals. Not to be out-done by the flowers, Yoji smoothed his hair back and scanned the people milling on the sidewalk, giving pretty-boy smiles to all the women who met his gaze.

"Hey Adonis, let's finish the job, okay?" Ken said irritably.

"What's the rush?" Yoji sidled up to Ken, throwing his arm over his shoulders exuberantly. "You know, I _could_ use my charms to get you laid tonight. Then you wouldn't be so uptight!"

Ken flushed hotly, muttering a shushing, "Idiot!"

Yoji laughed lightly, but his expression was somewhat apologetic for teasing his downtrodden teammate. "If it makes you feel any better, I said the same thing to Aya," he said as he tousled Ken's hair jokingly, treating him much like a little brother. "I'm just fooling with you, kid!"

"Watch the flowers!" Ken barked.

"Right, right." Yoji saluted the order, moving off to the revolving glass doors of the hotel.

Ken couldn't help but to shake his head at the other's brazen behavior. Out of shame he looked around to make sure no one had heard; thinking that if the people hadn't been watching him before, they most certainly would be now! What caught his attention, however, was a single stem that Yoji had dropped in his playfulness. The ruffled white flower looked sad by itself on the cold sidewalk, and feeling sorry for it, Ken knelt down and picked it up.

It was a begonia, a small starburst of white with a yellow center. The small flower was already slightly wilted from its tumble. In a corner of his mind, Ken recalled the statement the begonia made in floral dialect: Beware. It made his heart sink in a foreboding way.

Suddenly the van beside him heaved, groaning against its own massive metallic weight as it tilted towards him, tires lifting. Ken gasped and fell out of his crouch, moving away from the vehicle. It was as if something had struck it on the street-side, but traffic was still moving along smoothly. He looked around, but none of the pedestrians seemed to have noticed. _What_ was _that?_

Still kneeling, Ken put a trembling hand over his eyes. The sounds of cars and people dimmed in his ears, and he heard soft footsteps. Lowering his hand, he saw someone standing on the other side of the van. Gazing under their vehicle's belly, all he saw were white dress shoes and crisply seamed pale-blue trousers. It was the color that drug the memory of the mall back, and Ken gasped. The flower fell forgotten from his fingers.

Ken felt as if he were back inside his dream – the real world had vanished. He had the sensation of a fever pass over him, a warm haze that left his ears ringing. It was a curious sort of fear. In that heartbeat, the person calmly moved off. Ken stayed as if frozen, debating. _Nagi?_

Rousing himself, the serious part of Ken bullied him to his feet, and he quickly scanned the sidewalks for the boy. _There!_ He started moving off, sure he saw him disappear along the hotel's wall. Ken followed the person deftly, not evening thinking what he would say or do; he just knew he had to find him. Ken practically had to push people out of his way in his haste, but finally he came to the length of the building and rounded the corner. It was a small alley, beyond which would probably open up to either the kitchen dump, some sort of loading dock, or just the staff parking lot. Any of those destinations would pose a problem.

But he had to brave the alley first. It was a slip of space between the two buildings, dark and ominous, like the entrance into another world. _A world of ghosts and mirrors?_ Ken gazed back the way he had come, watching the entrance of the hotel for his comrades. The world there seemed to move at a normal speed, unconcerned about the sinner chasing his sin. Looking back and seeing nothing, Ken decided to tempt his fate.

He moved slowly into the shadowed way, the noise from the street fading as he pressed onward. His steps echoed hollowly off the close quarters, but they were the only steps he heard. Ken held his breath and listened for signs of life, of someone waiting for him, but there was none. _Where am I being led? Why here? _

In answer, Ken's instincts sounded a mental alarm. What Yoji had just said to him resounded in his thoughts: _"I'm just fooling with you, kid!"_

Ken halted abruptly. He was being guided away. A decoy? _Then it's not me …?_

Fear erupted at the realization. Ken turned on his heels and bolted back towards the street. He slid out of the mouth of the alley, breaking his stride as not to collide with any of the pedestrians. His eyes were locked on the entrance of the hotel, where he saw Aya and Yoji exiting the building. Everything seemed fine, but still Ken's pace was hurried as he went to join them.

Yoji waved to him as if to ask "Where did you go?" while Aya's gaze was demanding. Ken couldn't stop the relieved smile that parted his lips, but it was extinguished quickly when suddenly the glass revolving doors of the hotel shattered brilliantly. There rose a chorus of baffled calls and a few pained cries.

Ken gasped and ran to his teammates, who stood gazing back at the doors dumbfounded. They had already left the landing of the flight of stairs to the entrance, and so they were a safe distance when the glass exploded.

In an instant, the odds changed. In that instant, the everyday evening was broken when someone screamed. There came the shrill sound of tires screeching, then the deafening pound of two cars colliding. It was all a frantic blur, but Ken still saw the car race over the curb, getting air, and plunge across the median from the main road towards the hotel. A sports car skewed off the road to miss hitting it, but crashed against the side of their delivery van. Ken made it to Yoji and Aya in time to force them away from the van, following the motion of the impact so that they were safely on the outside.

An SUV behind the sports car matched movements, and before applying the brakes, the driver turned the wheel. The SUV hit the parked car behind the delivery van, forcing it forward – in Ken's direction. Reflexes kicking in, Ken jumped, one foot finding the bumper of the van for lift. The impulsion allowed him to easily push off onto the hood of the parked car, which had no momentum from its standstill. It settled soon after, and Ken dropped back onto the sidewalk in shock. It seemed as if Weiß was purposefully sandwiched in.

However, the first car that jumped the curb seemed to only gain speed, and it lurched forward. It smashed between the angled van and the parked vehicle in front of it. It then incredibly veered off, as if it were aiming for the three Weiß members. Ken heard Yoji curse as he put a hand on the Player's chest and shoved him backwards in time. Aya broke rank and leapt the other direction. The speeding car crashed into the side of the building.

The uproar seemed to quiet as the traffic came to a ceasefire. All motion stopped. It was then that folks began taking stock of the situation; women began crying, children screamed, and men shouted. Disbelief hung like smoke in the air as each tried to make heads-or-tails of the freak accident.

"What the fuck was that?" Yoji sounded entirely pissed off. The doorman from the hotel was making his way down to them.

Aya started for the crumpled car on the sidewalk, the one that seemed to be the original culprit. Ken looked around the mass of faces in a stunned fog, but they all looked the same to his reeling brain. Shaking his head as if to ward of an annoying insect, Ken followed Aya.

The redhead inspected the driver's side door, and then tore it open easily. As bad as the wreckage looked, the man inside appeared unharmed save for a gash on his forehead. He maintained a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, and he was still securely in his seatbelt. To Ken, the middle-aged man in his grey business suit seemed in a trance.

"Stay still," commanded Aya. "Someone will call the paramedics. Does anything hurt?"

The man babbled something, which sounded like his name, but then he looked at the steering wheel aghast. "The car just … I didn't do anything. It just – by itself. The brakes wouldn't even work!"

Ken saw that both the man's feet were rooted atop the brake pad. The car had turned and sped up of its own accord? Ken gave a guttural growl under his breath, backing away from the ruined car as he heard police sirens and emergency units approaching. He heard the hotel doorman ask if he were injured, but suddenly the world was whirling and he couldn't respond.

He felt heavy as he dragged himself back towards the delivery van, now with major cosmetic damage. Ken vaguely heard someone telling a police officer that the driver had lost control of his vehicle; another bystander said they thought a traffic light had broken down; one crazed older lady said it was a terrorist attack, claiming the hotel doors were shattered by bullets. Ken fell back against their van knowing full well what had happened.

He gazed down at his feet. The poor begonia was crushed on the unforgiving pavement, the petals shredded and discolored. Beware, it had told him. He hadn't listened.

* * *

Daybreak found Ken in the shop, and even before the others had completely risen from the long night, he had made up his mind. He finally understood that he was running away from the obvious, and over the last few days it was clear he needed to stand his ground. Stay the course, Aya had said. There was so much he didn't know, but one fact he was sure he did: it was his fight alone, and the battlefield had already been chosen.

He knew if he continued to ignore the challenge, it would only end up putting his teammates in further danger. He understood that much from the previous bizarre incidents, all the threats and warnings. He'd be damned if he allowed them to get hurt! Even worse, innocent bystanders had been thrown into the fray because he had failed to respond on time.

In the backroom at the potter's worktable, Ken methodically trimmed and tied the arrangements of the flowers he would offer them. He was hopeful the entire visit would be nothing out of the ordinary; if anything, he just wanted to talk, but his senses told him to bring his bagh nakh. He had them stowed away in his pack, just so the others wouldn't notice. He was wrapping the precious items in paper when he heard the boy come up behind him.

Omi said, "Are you going to visit her?"

A little startled, Ken asked, "Who?"

"Your mother's grave. You called out for your Mom in your dream that other night."

"Oh? I didn't realize I woke the whole house."

"It's okay, although you did worry us."

"Yeah. I guess I need to say a proper good-bye." His reply was quick, and Ken hoped Omi hadn't noticed the uncomfortable lie. Briskly he added, "Grandma Momoe said she would cover my shift, so I hope Aya and Yoji understand."

"They will." Omi's small voice was full of concern again.

Ken kept telling himself it would be over after today, and to make light of the situation. In an attempt to reassure Omi, Ken finally turned to face him and gave him a smile, though it was forced. "I shouldn't be gone all day."

"Take your time. I'm sure she misses you, too." Omi returned the smile, and his was pure but sad.

Ken was beginning to feel some shame over the cover story, and for shutting out the boy again, who was nothing but thoughtful. He hurriedly put the flowers in a box with tissue paper to keep them intact, and tied the bundle securely for the trip. Snatching up his pack with his weapon, he walked with Omi outside.

"Have a good day at school," he offered at their parting. He went to his bike, throwing a leg over it and taking up his helmet. He could feel Omi's eyes boring into him, and Ken had to keep from fidgeting under that tense gaze.

"Ken-kun?"

"Huh?"

"I think she'd be proud of you."

Ken's brows rose in disbelief at the dramatic statement. A part of him was deeply touched and uplifted, but the sinner buried inside his heart was bitterly questioning. Catching his trepidation, Omi added in encouragement, "If she was anything like you, I'm sure your mother would be proud."

Out loud, Ken said gratefully, "Thanks." Internally, all he could think of was his nightmare.

* * *

Ken felt uneasy as he stared at the KEEP OUT sign posted in the middle of the chain blocking the driveway. For some reason, he had supposed someone would come in and rebuild the little chapel and orphanage after its untimely collapse. Yet here it stood, still in ruins and overgrown with brambles, trailing ivy and years of passing seasons. The desolate landscape left him feeling empty.

There was a certain amount of fear inside him, as well. He didn't know if he had the strength to enter the grounds, and he wondered if his reserves would last him well into their depths. He suspected the other was there, waiting for him – and he knew the time was now.

Wearing his bagh nakh and clutching the flower bouquets, Ken lifted the chain and slipped under. Letting it fall back with a subtle metallic chink, he began walking into the private property gradually. His boots crunched on the gravel drive, and despite the warm spring sun, he felt a chill grab hold of his body. He took a deep breath, smelling the earth and stone, but found no comfort.

For the first time in a long while, the words came true to his lips as he remembered his mother, and the nun who helped him after her passing. The prayer was spoken quietly and unsurely, as if begging.

"Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed by Thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, as in heaven, so on earth."

He moved ever so slowly, and with each step the words came stronger. He found the solace he needed, and discovered the confidence he thought had fled at the sight of his old hunting ground.

"Give us day by day our daily bread, and forgive us our sins; for we also forgive every one that is indebted to us. "

He didn't stop to gaze upon the ruins of the chapel, or even the remains of the orphanage where he lived for a brief time so many years ago. Instead, he kept walking, his stride even and steady. He knew where he must go, and he wanted to see them.

"Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."

Past the garden patch, now all clover and unchecked shrubs, he found the old, twisted birch tree he remembered from his youth. It stood like an ancient guardian over the private cemetery. Ken stepped lightly over the short iron rails that served as slight fencing, their scrollwork long rusted, and gingerly walked around the fragments of gravestones and statues. The grass and weeds had overrun the plots, and he had difficulty reading the markers. Soon enough, though, he found one of the graves he needed.

Ken knelt down and pulled the dried weeds from the headstone, and brushed the years of dirt from the once-polished stone. He read the name on the lonely little grave: Natsuki Saiyama.

The sharp pang of remorse that struck him hurt, and he sighed heavily against the tightness in his chest. If he had only believed sooner, if he had trusted Persia's command, then perhaps Natuski wouldn't have had to die. Ashamed of himself, Ken closed his misty eyes and said a heartfelt prayer.

Then the vision of Natsuki from his dream came rushing back, and he wished like crazy that image of her was true. It would mean she forgave him, and, he hoped, that she had found her own peace. Opening his eyes, he stared at his childhood friend's name and laid the small arrangement of flowers he'd made for her on the plot, wondering if she would laugh teasingly at him one last time.

Purple hyacinths surrounded by rosemary sprigs. In flower language, their message was sorrow and remembrance. _Please forgive me, and I'll always remember you._

"I'm sorry, Natsuki," he whispered to her headstone.

He reached out as he had done in his dream and set his gloved hand over her name. Many ghosts shadowed him, and there was so much blood on his hands with only more to come. But he knew she wouldn't want him to carry the regret of her death around the rest of his life. Natsuki didn't deserve that sort of memorial, to be just one of many crosses to bear. So with that simple touch, and an overwhelming mix of emotions, Ken had to let her go.

A cool breeze caught his hair as he stayed like that for several more breaths. Finally, with a single tear rolling down his cheek, Ken stood. He bowed his head in farewell, and backed away sadly. A crow's hectic call broke the silence, and he whirled about to watch the dark bird launch from a nearby tree; he waited, watched, but nothing followed. Suspicious, Ken took a few tentative steps towards that thicket, wondering what might have startled the crow.

What he discovered was a statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary rising from the weeds. Once alabaster stone, time had left her little veneration except to fade the pristine color to storm-grey. Honeysuckle grew wild, surrounding the figure in dead tresses which had only recently started sending out new season shoots. Ken put a hand out to tear away the tangles, but when he noticed the weapon upon that hand, he let it fall back awkwardly.

Ken lowered his eyes with a sense of shame, and noticed then that the statue rested atop a headstone. Even before he pulled aside the honeysuckle and thistle, he knew whose grave the Holy likeness watched over.

Sister Kaoruko Amamiya.

There was no way to describe the raw emotions Ken felt at seeing her name again. His guilt and grief returned like a blade slicing through, with cynical resentment staining afterwards like blood. Still deeper than that was a reminiscent sense of caring and gratitude. Despite everything, she was still a big part of his childhood memories. It was because he had been so fond of Sister that the newer feelings were mocking and bitter.

Pulling free from the past, Ken crossed himself and knelt before her headstone with the Blessed Virgin gazing down upon the scene. He placed the flowers on the ground in humble offering, although the chosen message was a firm statement. The bouquet was a simple blend of snapdragons around a stately spike of white asphodel, a unique flower some called the King's Spear. The snapdragons were seen as the flower for a gracious lady, yet that dialogue would often refer to her deception.

Ken told her the meaning behind the asphodel. "My regrets follow you to the grave." Hers, as well as his own.

He would never understand what had become of Amamiya, how she had grown so twisted in her beliefs. All those children … She was supposed to help them, the lost little souls. It was the children that suffered the most, those who had done no wrong and had no one else to turn to. It seemed her Holy Children were destined to suffer so much more before reaching heaven.

Had she always been like that, even back when she counseled Ken? Of course he hadn't realized she incorporated hypnosis into her sessions, even with him, but that didn't necessarily mean she was programming him into a killing machine like those others – like Natsuki. He wanted to believe in her so badly, at least for the time way back when; he wanted to believe that the sister truly loved all her children. Perhaps that had been her penance.

Instead of a typical prayer, one of Amamiya's favorite written works returned to Ken. He recited it out loud as best as he could remember it, as if to remind the nun's spirit of the good intentions she had once maintained:

"_I love children, says God. I want you to be like them. I love children because they are still growing, still climbing. They move upon the road. But nothing doing with big, grown-up people. They grow no more, they climb no more. They stop and stagnant. They are woeful, says God. They think they are there already._

"_But especially, says God, I love children for the look in their eyes. Therein I read their age. In my heaven there will be no other eyes than those of five-year-olds, for I know nothing more beautiful than the clear eyes of a child. This is not astonishing … for I live in their house and look out the windows of their souls. _

"_Whenever you meet a clear glance, know then that it is I, smiling at you through the material."_

There was a hush when Ken finished speaking, somber and lonely. He was surprised to find that he felt lighter, as if he had said everything he needed to. He had said his good-bye, and there was nothing more the White Hunter could do but leave her soul to God.

Lifting himself to his feet, Ken breathed, "Amen."

Then he felt the presence from behind. It didn't unnerve him that he didn't hear the boy approach. "Do you still believe in God?"

Ken closed his eyes with a sense of dread. _I didn't want it to be like this._ As greatly as he expected it, he had hoped Nagi wouldn't come; he sincerely wanted the last few days to have only been part of the nightmare. His heart sunk. With a deep sigh of acknowledgment, Ken finally nodded. _So it begins …_

"Hello, Nagi."

"Ken." The formal greeting held no warmth. Instead it felt very professional and dismal. "You finally decided to come. For a moment, I thought perhaps you'd forgotten about us."

"Never." Ken hung his head. "I have too many memories here, both good and bad. I'm sure it's the same for you. I doubt you and I will ever be free of this place."

The silken inhalation of breath from Nagi Naoe almost sounded gleeful. "I suppose that's true." The nondescript sonance of his voice hadn't changed, but it was flat now, heavily guarded. "Thanks to you."

Rising to the challenge, Ken turned about to face the boy he had betrayed. Nagi stood tall before him, one hand casually inside a pant pocket. His demeanor had completely altered from the shy, withdrawn child into someone rich in hate and power. There was a gloomy mirth about him, although his face showed nothing but a blank mask. In his navy eyes, however, Ken saw the flickering anticipation and lingering hurt, like an unspoken battle cry. Ken's fallen heart shattered.

"I am glad to see you're alright," he said honestly. "It's nice to see you're going to a public school now, too."

Nagi sniggered nastily, offended at the sympathy, although his rich voice didn't swell or break. "School?" There was bitterness when he removed his hand from the pocket to unconsciously smooth the seam of his pale blue uniform. "I have classes, if that's what you mean. But I think you know I'm not normal."

"Nagi –"

"Don't patronize me."

Ken sighed helplessly. "We don't have to do this."

He noticed that with every word, Nagi grew more and more irritated, believing it mock-sincerity. _Please just talk to me, kid. I don't want it to be like this … _As if he had heard that thought, Nagi took a step closer, eyes narrowing into harsh slits. Ken knew that look, saw the thirst for blood in the boy's eyes. He shifted his weight and steadied his weapon-arm, waiting.

"Not here."

Ken arched a questioning brow, but noticed Nagi was gazing past him to the statue of the Blessed Virgin and the sister's grave. He seemed ill at ease and unwilling to carry on with the tone of their reunion before those present. Ken nodded his understanding, turning to give the plot one final look. When he turned back, Nagi was gone.

What had happened to him over these years? Where had he been? Ken could only wonder. He had seemed a troubled child, unsure of the whole world, but now he was down-right mysterious. In truth, the White Hunter felt he were a sedated evil. It made Ken's guilt that much more unbearable to think that he was the cause of ruining the boy. With that devastating blame, Ken left the graveyard, following Nagi's lead.

He knew where Nagi had gone; he had returned to the place where it had begun. It would be within the wreckage of the modest church where Ken had killed Amamiya, with Weiß watching over, that they would clash. Ken stood outside what remained of the chapel and took in the damage. It was basically just a frame now, although some walls held up. Shingles and siding littered the perimeter. It somehow reminded him of a crushed bug, a sorry specimen that did little to warrant its untimely demise besides existing as it was.

Ken moved up the cement steps mournfully, like a man following a funeral procession. This was the hour he had been waiting for, and loathing. Now there was no turning back or stalling. The doorway gaped open before him like the mouth of a monstrous creature, black and unwelcoming. He went over the threshold expectantly.

Once inside the shadowy depths, he was ill prepared for the force that greeted him. It was similar to being punched, but yet not quite as he felt his body lifted. He was thrown by will alone towards what remained of the far wall. The tatty wood splintered as he crashed against it, taking it against the spine. Winded, he was released and fell to the floor, lungs burning for precious air.

He heard himself retching and coughing horribly like an out-of-body experience. He had no explanations or means of describing it, but he recalled Nagi's arcane ability rather vividly. The first time Nagi's innocent desperation had caused plates to clatter. Now he could fling cars and people with his rage. _There's more control,_ Ken reckoned.

"So do you still believe in God?"

Pulling himself onto hands and knees, he was vaguely aware of the boy beside him. Looking up, Ken saw the fury in Nagi's eyes, which now seemed to glow red with fire. _Whatever he has, he still hasn't mastered it._ He understood that Nagi let his emotions rule that power. _He is only a distressed child after all …_

"Yes, I do." Ken's raspy voice sounded foreign in his own ears as he tried to find more breath.

Nagi sniffed in utter disgust. "Even though you're nothing more than a killer?"

A smile tilted Ken's lips upwards in an attempt to hide his grief. It wasn't that much of a contradiction was it? He replied deftly, "Maybe it's _because_ I'm a killer that I need to keep believing."

The dark, barely audible chuckle he heard sounded nothing like the child he remembered. "So you have relinquished your eternal soul to Hell?"

Using the wall for support, Ken climbed to his feet miserably. "I have no illusions about what I do, but it's necessary. I have faith in that just as much as in God. And I know I'll be judged when the time comes." He was surprised by his confidence and acceptance. He truly did believe.

Nagi's anger finally rose to his voice. "Necessary? It was _necessary_ to murder Sister, after promising to protect her? You're as cruel as God!"

Ken fell back a step as if slapped. Traitor, liar, murderer. It was true; he was all of those things. _I didn't mean to …_ "She was wrong," he heard himself say with fervor. He knew he couldn't show his depression or uncertainty before the child; he had to play stronger. "She was using you kids to commit murder, without getting her own hands bloodied. No matter how good the intention, she was wrong!"

"Stop it."

"And she would have done the same to you!"

"Shut up!"

The immense outburst from one so reserved was shocking. Even more disturbing was the impulsive gust of wind that sent the scattered debris and leaves spiraling between them. Ken didn't let up, but the words came more gently now.

"What about Natsuki? She was your friend, too, wasn't she?" The boy glared at him. "I didn't kill her."

They locked gazes, something Ken suspected Nagi wouldn't have had the courage to do before. "I didn't come about Natsuki," Nagi finally said after the long pause. "I didn't come for Sister."

"Then – "

"I don't believe in God, and I didn't come to hear your excuses," Nagi declared wrathfully. His eyes flared and his ebony hair lashed madly about, as if he were caught in a tumultuous air bubble. "You took her from me!"

Every word Nagi spoke was like a blade through his heart, because every single one was true. He could tell the boy that it was for the best, that he'd saved him from Sister's treachery, but Nagi was too far lost in his own hatred; nothing else would matter.

"I didn't come here to fight."

"No," agreed the boy. "You came to save your associates."

The threat hidden in those words prompted Ken to pull himself to his full matured height. He didn't like the fact that he was so easily read, but considering his opponent, it might also prove useful; there was honesty in being blunt. If he hid behind emotional scars and mental barriers, who could believe anything he said?

"To that end," continued Nagi, cupping his hand in front of his chest as if to gather energy like water, "you _will_ fight."

And he threw that arm out, rotating his wrist and splaying his fingers. Manifesting his powers with a physical motion looked much like a martial art, and the visibility of it gave Ken the opportunity he needed. He dodged in time, and the wall dented where he'd been. Ken leaped for the exit, fearing for the stability of the battlefield, but Nagi brought the door to life. It rose off the floor, torn from its hinges, and slammed back into proper place, barring the exit.

Ken growled under his breath, and turned away. As soon as he did the door fell back to its burial place. But he came into the line of fire when a beam flew towards his face. Slightly stunned by the sharp speed of Nagi's attacks, Ken dropped to his knees and slid under the sailing staff. He felt splinters of it graze across his skin as he performed an elegant limbo beneath it, out of harm's way. He arched forward next, tucking over onto his shoulder blades to roll behind the remains of a pew. As he righted himself, a thought struck his warrior's perception. _He can only move one object at a time!_

Using the observation, Ken kicked the pew with all his might towards Nagi. The boy gasped, but recovered swiftly; he snapped the long bench in two. While he was focusing on that, Ken drove forward and pulled his arm back for a strike. The blades of the bagh nakh extended for the kill with a silvery song.

The heat of battle quickly dissipated as soon as Ken realized what he was doing. Cursing his brash action, Ken let go of the release and his blades disappeared. Instead, his gloved fist slammed into the teenage boy's collarbone. With the claws hidden, the blow was delivered as if wearing brass knuckles, and Nagi cried out in pain; Ken winced.

The boy slid off that fist and onto his knees, breathless. Ken stood beside him and waited, which only upset Nagi more. Soon Nagi was panting in angry fits, and he demanded, "Why? Why won't you fight?" He was infuriated because he wanted to display the extent of his vengeance, and that saddened Ken. "Why don't you kill me, too?"

Nagi's small hands balled into fists, and the frame of the church began to quake. Without any hesitation, Ken bent and put his arms around him, holding him against his chest and grabbing Nagi's wrists to stay any assault. In Ken's sorrow, it was more of an embrace than restraint. The boy tensed, astounded and confused.

Not fully understanding why or how, Ken closed his eyes and began to hum quietly, tunelessly. It wasn't the proper notes, and wouldn't have any effect since he hadn't been triggered. But the song was similar enough that Nagi went limp in recognition, and Ken knew.

"You heard it too, didn't you? Just like Natsuki, just like me, Sister used the song on you."

"Let me go," Nagi demanded, not wanting to submit to the truth.

"I am so sorry," Ken whispered against Nagi's hair. The boy jerked as if hit. "Please, Nagi, that's enough."

Ken wanted desperately to get through to the child. Although they were on separate warring sides, it was the same circumstance that divided them. It was also what brought them back together. In their conjoined past, Ken felt an odd connection with Nagi Naoe. He didn't want to create a nemesis.

It was no small grudge that Nagi held against him, however, and he knew it – knew the boy would not simply let it go. Ken heard him crying softly, but Nagi's tears soon became a morose chortle. There was a flash of eerie white light from under Nagi's curled hands, and the floor split with a thick, trembling pop like a mirror cracking.

Suddenly the frame of the building groaned loudly. Behind them the altar rattled. Without any more warning, the remainder of the large stained-glass window above the altar exploded – just as the hotel doors had the night before. The shards flew inward, and Ken held Nagi closer to protect him, feeling the bits shower down around them like rain, pounding against his back. In that instant, a wind came from the floorboards under Nagi, and with an enraged scream Nagi hurled them both backwards. His aim was perfect, and Ken struck the altar. This time his head cracked back, and he fell in a heap with his skull on fire.

_Shit!_ Ken cursed himself over and over again to keep from slipping into unconsciousness. When he opened his eyes, he saw Nagi on his hands and knees a few feet from him. The boy's hands were bleeding over the broken glass. The glower he gave Ken turned his pretty features dreadful.

Swaying somewhat, Nagi stood. "I've been told," he said eloquently, once more in charge, "by someone who knows a little of the future that I will have the chance to fight you. Weiß."

Somehow Ken knew he wouldn't follow that statement even if his head were not swimming. _The future?_ The accusing manner in which Nagi spoke the name Weiß _did_ register, however. He spat out the taste of blood from his mouth, squinting at Nagi around the dancing specs of light over his vision.

"My future has been planned out for me. I accept that," Nagi continued, "but it's not payment enough. I can't forgive you for betraying me, Ken."

_He isn't going to stop, _thought Ken. _It's my fault. I started him down this path, and now I have to end it. _Grunting stiffly against his sore muscles and throbbing head, Ken dragged himself to his feet. Nagi's eyes narrowed dangerously. Ken walked heavily to stand before Nagi, who gave him a slanted grin in eagerness. Ken's eyes filled with tears as he did something Nagi didn't expect. He dropped onto both knees before the child.

"I won't forgive you," Nagi growled, unmoved.

Ken smiled despondently. "No, I'm not asking you to." Nagi made a guttural, bewildered sound as Ken began undoing the straps of his bagh nahk. Removing the gauntlet, Ken had no second thoughts about casting it away.

"I take responsibility, and this is payment for my sins." Ken held his head high, and his eyes sparkled handsomely. "Take it. Take my life."

A soft, pathetic sound escaped Nagi's lips. Aghast, he choked out, "You –" His expression was thunderstruck wrath. "You bastard."

"I'm not denying you your vengeance, Nagi," Ken said, his voice coarse with horrible unhappiness. "But I won't fight you. I loved Sister, too."

Nagi closed his eyes and turned his face away angrily, tears spilling anew. His lithe frame shook with his struggle to decide Ken's fate so easily offered. When he opened the navy depths into his soul – the clear eyes of a child – they were brimming with fire and ice. Ken had no fear. _Thy will be done, let Your child pass judgment._

Nagi threw out his hand one final time, and Ken felt an invisible weight bear down on him as a tornado suddenly passed through. The winds were roaring against the frame of the chapel, threatening to bring the remains down. It brutally forced Ken onto the ground. It was like being trapped under the rubble of a fallen building, although the church still held up. It was pressing down, crushing him, and soon he couldn't breathe. A black, thick fog settled over his mind, and Ken let go.

As he fell into that fog, he thought he heard the boy's voice say a parting message. The sentence was tragic, but somehow delivered with less hatred. Was it acceptance? Did Nagi finally let go as well?

"Someday you will have to fight me," Nagi swore delicately. "Ken Hidaka."


	3. Atonement

**Part III: _Sühne_**

From the fog and blackness a memory stirred; he remembered when they first met.

The soft sound of a cat crying caught his attention. From the threshold of the chapel Ken turned to see a young boy walking towards them, carrying a gray tabby in his arms. The child seemed startled when he noticed the stranger standing with Natsuki and talking with Sister Amamiya; he stopped in his tracks a few feet away, as if he were too uncomfortable to come any closer.

"Hello," the boy said shyly.

"Nagi-kun!" Natsuki greeted him brightly as if wondering where he'd been. To Ken she explained, "He's living here with us for now."

"Ahh." Ken nodded in understanding at the subtle message in her words.

Even if she hadn't told him, Ken could tell at once this boy was just like he had been. Troubled and alone. Although judging from the lack of style in his clothing, and the fact that they were at least one size too large for the fragile looking child, Ken sensed immediately there was a difference between them. Nagi was an unlucky orphan surviving off charity. Ken felt a pang of sympathy, knowing there was probably no one to come back for him.

Ken's eyes flicked to Sister for a brief second, catching her small, sad smile in acknowledgment. He knew it was not his place to ask questions, so he merely turned back to the child and gave his best smile.

"Yo!" he returned in salutation. He leaned down, putting himself at the boy's height instead of towering above him, and said nicely, "Cute kitty you got there."

Nagi's arms tensed unsurely about the animal, but he gave a breathy half-laugh in reply. A ghost of a smile appeared on his face, and his pale cheeks gained a rosy color. He barely met Ken's eyes before looking away swiftly in embarrassment. Ken was touched; he knew the introverted kid took a liking to him, as children always did. It seemed Nagi hadn't known much kindness in his life and was handling it as best he could. Ken knew it was in no small part thanks to Sister, and that Amamiya would be as much of a mother for him as she could – as she had been for Ken. Nagi was in good hands.

_And what did I do? I tore him away from those "protective" hands. It was my fault. Now I've made amends … _

Ken reached a hand out to pet Nagi's cat, and the tabby met his fingers with a questioning sniff. The whiskers prickled against his skin, and it was the sharp sensation that brought Ken back from the past. It brought him back to the groggy, pain-filled reality.

And the sound of Nagi's scream echoed in his head. _"You took her from me!"_

_It wasn't what I wanted, but I had no choice …_

He heard the cat meow again, this time in concern, and heard the thrumming of its heartfelt purring. When he felt the tickling of its whiffing breath against his face, Ken realized he wasn't dead. He took a deep, rattling mouthful of air before opening his eyes, fighting eyelids that felt incredibly heavy. When his fuzzy vision cleared, he saw the cat walking franticly around him. For some odd reason, he was grateful to the animal for its worry.

He felt the cold cement under his cheek, felt the awkward tightness of his bike goggles twisted around his neck. And he was thankful. Ken had been prepared to die – in fact he was willing to welcome it for Nagi's sake – but he still found himself happy to be feeling those ordinarily uncomfortable things. He had presented his atonement without thinking, without hesitation, but he never imagined he would die today. It was funny how life played out sometimes.

When the recollection began to drift back, he was also somewhat surprised. Nagi hadn't killed him. It wasn't a question of why, really. Ken knew his offer to lay down his life without resentment took away Nagi's hunger for retribution. The boy's vengeance no longer had anything appealing to offer his rage. But he had to wonder, though, if it meant Nagi had accepted his apology?

When the cat cried again, urging him to get up, Ken drew his arms under with an uncertain sigh. He lifted himself off of his stomach, which felt taut; his back ached something fierce, and the movement made his head spin. It was a very slow process simply to get onto hands and knees; his body scolded him with strains and soreness the entire way. Finally he sat back on his heels stiffly. It hurt to breathe, but the pain was fading fast; Nagi hadn't crushed anything. He felt the back of his head, but there were no cuts or blood. In retrospect, the boy had gone easy on him.

Noticing the cat circling him still, Ken smiled lightly. The dark, striped animal stopped in front of his knees when it realized it had his attention. There was no way to be sure if this was the same cat from that time in the past, but it acted like ground's guardian. Ken reached down to pat its head.

"Hey you," he whispered coarsely. He cleared his throat when he heard the strange twinge in his voice. "Are you looking for Nagi? He already left, I'm afraid."

The feline made a sound of disagreement, and trotted away. Just like a cat, once satisfied that Ken was alright, it decided to venture off into some other mystery. Noticing the swiftly fading light, Ken realized he should do the same; it was pushing into the evening, and the others would be waiting for him.

He forced himself onto his feet, wobbling much, and struggled towards the doorway. He fell against the frame, and the poor building groaned as if it were in equal pain. _But it's over now,_ thought Ken. _At least for this place, it is. It can finally fall and be laid to rest. _

Ken, however, had to go on. And now he found some conviction to face the way ahead, continue on the path he had chosen. As he told Nagi, his judgment would come eventually, and he expected his punishment to be severe. He would accept it. Until that time, he accepted the responsibility of his choice.

Moving outside, Ken saw the cat relaxing on the stairs below, and it gazed up at him in a strangely all-knowing manner. Its soft sides heaved as if it wanted to scold him for being dense, and taking the hint, Ken looked down. On the porch sat his soccer ball.

"Oh, Nagi," he breathed in tired sadness. Ken picked up the ball numbly. "That's right. I owe you a game, don't I?"

It was an odd message the boy left. _Does he understand? Does it mean he forgives me? Or … is he simply waiting for another time? _Nagi had mentioned something of the future, a forecast of a fight still to come. Neither would ever be free of the other, it seemed.

_Still I suppose we both found the closure we needed for now. I've said my farewells, and he knows I'm not the cold-blooded killer he wanted me to be._

That thought made him start, and Ken repeated it out loud because he needed to hear it; he needed to believe. "I'm not a cold-blooded killer."

_I know I'm not. But I am Weiß._

* * *

It was full night out by the time he stumbled back home. He entered the shop through the rear exit, not bothering to announce himself to the others. It was dark within as well, all the lights were out. From beneath his feet, he heard the echo of voices. Instantly Ken knew where everyone was. Without thought, he went to the basement door and made his way down the spiraled stairs. The ceiling gave way to open light and four sets of eyes looking up at him. Omi gave him a sympathetic smile. Yoji lowered his gaze awkwardly, presumably having been told Ken's whereabouts.

"There's our tardy member," Manx said, not unkindly. "Weiß has a new mission."

The hand holding onto the strap of his backpack was tight. Ken wondered what his comrades would think if they knew he was carrying around his bagh nakh and a returned soccer ball. However, he had no feelings of unease under their scrutinizing gazes. It was the first time in so many days that Ken felt comfortable, almost carefree, within Weiß.

Ken noted that everyone held files already and Manx had taken up her briefcase and coat. "Are you on your way out, Manx?"

She nodded. "Your teammates will update you on the target. I hope you'll be participating too –" Ken arched a brow, curious to know what Omi had told her of his behavior before "– because with Aya's injured wrist, we don't want him performing the task."

Ken looked to Aya, who was seated on the couch with Omi. He hadn't thought about it, but Aya must have re-sprained his wrist the previous night during the car accident. No doubt he was under orders from Kritiker now to take care, lest he do permanent damage to his sword-wielding arm. Aya didn't appear thrilled with it, ever the serious assassin, but he would obey nonetheless.

Manx continued on, "It's up to you boys to discuss details, and –"

"I'll do it."

Everyone looked at Ken, slightly stunned by his sudden bold voice. His brows were knit together sternly, and he stood tall, almost proud, despite his haggard face. This was his chance to prove himself, and make right the mistakes he had made recently; it was his redemption. As a sinner, he would rid the world of the greater evil as justification for his own misdeeds. That's why he wanted to be the one to eliminate the next target. He wouldn't shy from the fight now, and he trusted his choice. _I'm not a cold-blooded killer. That's the difference between me and the target._

Ken repeated earnestly, "I'll do it."

Omi's eyes were wide as he whispered, "Ken-kun?" There was a strange sadness that glistened in his blue gaze.

Manx on the other hand had a pleased smirk, while Yoji shrugged and commented, "Great. So it's set then."

Only Aya seemed distrustful, the violet eyes weighing Ken's intentions. Even that was to be expected on Ken's part, and he felt a challenge rise up between them. Aya warned him to be mindful of their important tasks, and the saucy side of Ken wanted to throw those words back in the redhead's face. He would do it; he would prove himself to Aya. After all, Ken had been Weiß first.

* * *

After Manx had departed, Ken went upstairs and flopped on his bed like a dead weight, feeling drained but rather positive. He heedlessly threw his pack in the corner. His muscles ached for a hot bath, and his stomach tried to remind him he hadn't eaten all day, plus some aspirins would be nice. For the time being, though, he was content to just lie there and let the day sink in.

He heard someone come up the stairs to the living quarters, and judging from the direction of the footfalls, Ken knew it was Omi. The boy- Weiß went into his own room for a few moments, and then appeared at Ken's opened door. Ken rolled his head to look at Omi with a questioning but friendly expression.

The boy cautiously looked back towards the stair well, making sure Aya and Yoji were not in hearing distance. Content they were still down below, he said calmly, "I got what you wanted." Although his voice was even and unperturbed, Omi's eyes were full of tragic compassion. He held up a manila envelope.

"Oh, yeah," Ken said, his own tone flat. It was easy to play it cool since the information would no longer be necessary. Yet Omi didn't know that, and it would be best if he were kept in the dark. "Thanks, Omi. I mean it."

Omi nodded, walking into the room to hand Ken his findings, who accepted it with a grateful bob of the head. But the manner in which Omi stared at Ken made him lift his eyebrows in wonderment. Biting his lip as if to hold something back, Omi moved to go back downstairs. After two steps the boy stopped and turned back helplessly. What he said made Ken's heart flutter uncertainly.

"Ken-kun, I just want you to know I'm sorry."

A confused "huh" escaped Ken's lips, but Omi pretended to ignore it as he plodded away; Omi's treks down the steps echoed in the close confines of the flat, and they rang hollowly in Ken's befuddled mind. After all he'd been through that day, escaping death notwithstanding, Ken had been certain he knew how it would at least end. But apparently one more truth would unfold.

Curiosity forced him to sit up, nerves tight once more. He opened the envelope with dire speed, hands shaking somewhat. He removed only one full sheet of paper, which held a distorted print-out of a legal document. Accompanying it was a copied article bit from a Yokohama newspaper, cut to size, held to the first with a paperclip. He skimmed the headline with wide eyes. _Two killed when chapel collapsed. _

He slid the article off, and began shaking his head at the legal document. It was a death certificate for Nagi Naoe.

"This can't be," Ken breathed, a hand over his mouth. "It's impossible …"

He had seen the boy, spoken with him, even fought him. Nagi was _not_ dead. His eyes suddenly burned with tears dredged up from his past sins._ What was I fighting in that case? A ghost? _A bitter chuckle broke from his chest at the sheer absurdity of it all. _He didn't die. I didn't kill him … _The papers fell from his unfocused grasp. His body felt heavy, yet his head was floating.

"It's impossible. It is."

Ken dropped his head into his hands, propped up by his elbows on his knees. He forced his thoughts to focus. It was impossible, and in point of fact untrue. Nagi was alive. He had even stated that his future had been plotted for him. So then? Ken knew it wasn't a misprint. The newspaper, undoubtedly even the police, had been fed facts. Kritiker frequently did it for Weiß.

So then it meant that whoever was minding Nagi also wanted it to appear to the world that the boy had died. So Ken had been wrong. Someone _did_ go back for the orphan under Amamiya's care. Why would they need him to be dead?

He didn't need to consider the possibilities long before Ken had his answer. _We are the same. We're exactly the same …_

An orphan lost was easily forgotten. The child Ken had met was no longer alive. He had been reborn into some world, a world beyond those of the Light that Weiß protected. And no doubt for his revenge Nagi had gone willingly. As he told Ken, Nagi wanted payment. It was a story much like Ken's after he had "died" in a fire set by the bastards who ruined his career in the J-League. In order to uncover the truth, in order to exact vengeance, Ken had become a White Hunter.

What had Nagi become? Who was he now in the velvet folds of the underworld?

_I'll find out someday, right Nagi? _For the rest of the world, for his fellow Weiß members, Nagi Naoe was gone. But Ken knew it just as much as the boy-telekinetic; they would meet again.

* * *

The night was unseasonably cold, which made the air-conditioned office building feel like a morgue; it was also just as silent. The regular employees had long since clocked out, while only the target and the night watchmen remained. No security patrolled at this hour, and Omi had taken out the surveillance cameras. The mission was underway.

Ken stood in the hallway with Aya, both on either side of an elevator shaft, doors closed. The hall was dimly lit, casting a hazy glow off the pale cream walls. They had stolen the janitorial staff's skeleton key and locked all the doors on the floor; no one could sneak up on them, nor escape.

All the while Ken could feel Aya's eyes carefully judging his every move, and it gave him even more determination. Ken knew he was ready for the target, and this time there would be no ghosts from his past to stray his focus. Or fuel his rage. Even though he hadn't managed to totally erase Nagi from his thoughts the last few days, Ken no longer felt the crushing guilt.

"You're okay with this?" Aya asked in a hush as the moment drew nearer. He wore his sword-belt reversed, and now laid his left hand over the hilt. It was his way of saying he could do the job just as well left-handed, despite his thoroughly bandaged right. Aya was giving Ken the chance to back out. It wasn't going to happen.

"Fine." Ken gave his teammate a definite look. "Don't worry about me, Abyssinian."

There was uncertainty in the air between them, and it was one of those times where Ken felt like decking Aya as he had done upon their introduction. He hadn't been ashamed of his reaction because sometimes Aya deserved it. Ken shrugged his shoulders against the heavy leather of his coat, and turned back to the elevator doors. Out of the corner of his eye, Ken saw Aya smile vaguely, as if satisfied with the reply from the Ken he knew all too well.

Just then Yoji said over their comlink, "On his way up."

The numbers above the door began to count up, affirming that the elevator was moving. Aya looked at Ken, who nodded back. Ken took up the crowbar they'd brought. He drove it into the seal between the doors and, with one explosive wrench, pried them apart. Aya leaned his shoulder into one door, and it was enough to get the tripod inside, and arms propped to hold them open. The two Weiß members gazed down and saw the compartment steadily rising to their level.

When it got close enough Aya said into the mouthpiece, "Bombay, now."

And Omi cut the electricity in the building. The elevator stalled several feet beneath them. Immediately Ken jumped into the open shaft, catching the cables in his coarsely gloved hands. He slid effortlessly down using the lines for support, landing with a catlike grace on the top of the box. Siberian blanked his mind, leaving no room for emotions to penetrate, just as a professional should work.

In a heartbeat, he kicked in the emergency escape hatch, and dropped into the compartment. It only took a second for him to take stock of the close surroundings; the target was alone, and pounding on the button to alert security, which was of course malfunctioning. His back was to Siberian.

Claws flashed out like stiletto blades, and just as the man started to turn towards the surprising visitor, Ken grabbed him by his hair and drug the bagh nakh across his exposed throat. In a flash crimson blood splattered the walls, spraying all the way up into the camera which caught none of the violence. The target had no chance to even cry out, but Siberian granted him a quicker death than he deserved.

In the second heartbeat, the emergency flood lights were replaced by the ordinary radiance as the elevator began moving again. Bombay turned the electricity back on as if it were simply a power glitch; the cameras, on the other hand, would remain dead until security caught on.

Ken passively stared down on the bloodied body at his feet. He had to allow his emotions to register slowly, just as a computer had to reboot. When Siberian faded, Ken let himself take in what he had done so swiftly and skillfully. A shiver ran down his spine as he recalled the heightened emotions the night at the mall. But it was just a memory now. Right now, he felt nothing but accomplished. It was over, and he had done it. Without desire or guilt, Ken had killed the target.

It was his choice. It was his atonement.

Nagi, too, had made his choice. Ken realized there was nothing he could do to change the course of their relationship; even if he had the chance, he knew he would make the same decision. It was just who he was. He wasn't certain if he believed in fate, although he did feel there was some higher authority at work, one that wasn't to be questioned. And if he was destined to meet Nagi again, Ken believed he no longer owed the child. He could follow the way ahead without fail.

The elevator stopped on their designated floor, and when it did, Ken drew in a deep breath. He turned around to face Aya, and for a moment he wanted to give his fellow Weiß member a smarmy grin; he wanted to prove Aya wrong. But as he met those violet eyes, all he felt was – himself.

And Ken smiled to show he was alright.

**The End.**


End file.
